


Hogwarts School of Dance

by rufusrant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Dancing Lessons, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Multi, Nice Petunia Dursley, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Performing Arts, Slow Burn, Whimsy, everybody is a muggle, fairytales I made up myself, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufusrant/pseuds/rufusrant
Summary: When Harry Potter is accepted into the Hogwarts School of Dance, he finds himself surrounded by music, magical performances, bed and breakfasts, and friends who love him. In particular, a certain Malfoy.





	1. The Commitment

For as long as Harry could remember, the red brick building with large windows and the hanging emerald-green bell over the door had been his favourite place. He had first seen it when he was eight, while wandering home by himself, after Aunt Petunia had dragged him and Dudley to buy groceries and left him back at the shop. It had not started to snow, but Harry was feeling colder for every step he took. He looked around, tiptoeing in order to catch a glimpse of the street signs to see if he was going the right way.

After a while, Harry felt very lost. He seemed to be moving increasingly further. He was now in a small, warmly-lighted commercial district surrounded by Christmas decorations and people shopping. Harry contemplated on approaching somebody to ask if they knew where Privet Drive was, but was feeling shy and didn't want to bother anyone- what if they weren't sure where it was and asked Harry for more details or a phone number? He didn't have an answer to those.

As he turned the corner, the sudden glow through a large window and a flurry of movement caught Harry's attention. He looked in. Behind this large window was a spacious, homely-looking room with polished wood floors, big mirrors, and a long continuous barre in front of the mirrors. The room had also been decorated for Christmas: red and green streamers hung from the ceiling lights, wreaths graced the respective mirrors, and a small Christmas tree stood near a door.

In the center of the room, a line of five kids were standing on one leg, the other stuck in the air in a straight line, as if they had been drawn with a ruler. They briefly reminded Harry of the flamingos at the zoo, only that these children were far more fascinating to watch. Legs still up in the air, they all simultaneously moved their other arm in the opposite direction, as if they were all conducting an invisible orchestra. Harry felt the overwhelming urge to sit down and watch.

The kids' legs descended swiftly and were kicked backwards and then brought to knee level of their supporting leg as they spun, their arms raised above their heads. Harry saw their faces as they whirled. Four of the kids were redheaded: One boy looked Harry's age, the other two boys looked identical and a bit older. And there was an adorable little girl next to the twins, her long red hair whipping around her as she twirled. Next to her was a pale, blond boy, who also looked Harry's age. He had a joyful smile on his face, his movements gracefully paced and flowed like water. He seemed so...natural. As if spinning like a top with hands raised was the easiest thing to do in the world. Harry had never seen anything like this: a practice that seemed so austere, yet it was giving this boy total freedom.

Slowly, they ceased spinning and put down their arms. They began to move out of line and take deep breaths, the twins patting the redheaded boy and girl on their backs and laughing. One of the twins high-fived the blond boy and gave him a thumbs up, which the blond boy nodded to. As the redheaded kids turned the other direction, the blond boy turned, and noticed Harry.  
Harry jumped back from their sudden eye contact. He then realised that he'd been pressing his hands to the cold glass. Goodness, he hoped he hadn't looked like he was intruding, he'd better turn away and run-

To his surprise, the blond boy, still smiling, moved a step closer, and waved at Harry. Harry was further taken aback. Harry looked behind himself, but found nobody else around. Usually people never waved at him; either they'd been waving at a person behind him or did it to catch his attention, then blow raspberries at him. But this boy had just simply waved and smiled at him. As if Harry was his friend.

Harry smiled and waved back.

At that moment, the loud screech of a car sounded in the paved road behind him. Harry turned, and was met face to face with Petunia Dursley, looking as if she'd been pulling at her hair in a worry, yet very enraged.

"THERE YOU ARE!" she screeched, so loudly that Dudley jerked up in surprise in the passenger seat. "Hurry up and get in, dinner's probably cold now! Dudley is starving!"

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia!" Harry scrambled into the backseat. He could feel his face heating up. The blond boy was staring at him curiously from the other side of the window. Aunt Petunia had not appeared to have heard him, and was ranting on how she'd realised that she'd probably have to deal with the authorities and Mrs Next-Door's nosiness if she had been unable to find him. But Harry did not hear her, the boy was probably thinking that Harry was a runaway troublemaker. He looked back at the boy nervously, only to see him smiling at him with the same warmth and friendliness. Harry smiled back in relief. As the car started moving, the boy ran up to the window, pressed himself against the glass, and waved again. Harry felt very pleasantly surprised. He did the same, waving until the building and the boy were out of sight.

All the way back, Harry only thought of the blond boy, how cheerfully he had smiled, the refined movements made by all five of the kids. He wondered about the redheads: maybe they were just as nice as the blond boy. He wondered about how they'd managed spin like that and not topple over. He wondered some more about the blond boy. What was his name? When was his birthday? Did he like cakes? Did he have an annoying cousin too? Did he like stories about magic, just like Harry?

Over Aunt Petunia's ranting and Dudley's loud snoring the whole trip back, Harry made up his mind that he'd go back someday to see the blond boy. One day they would meet properly. He'd tell him how nice he'd looked when he danced.

As he lay in his bed under the stairs, he'd committed every bit of the building to his memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea out of the blue. All mistakes are my own. I do not own Harry Potter, all credit goes to JKR.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I appreciate that greatly! :D


	2. Caramel Chocolate

“Hogwarts School of Dance” kept repeating itself in Harry’s mind: looped like a broken but mellifluous record. He was now begging Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to take him along whenever they went out to town, and Vernon Dursley had objected fiercely and shouted at Harry to be quiet. Aunt Petunia did the same; and worse still, she did not let Harry out of her sight for fear of a repeat of the previous incident. 

In the end, Harry did not see the building for nearly a month. But he had recalled everything about its appearance, and its five dancing kids. 

On Christmas eve, Marge Dursley arrived in the morning with two of her unpleasant dogs. And as she stepped through the door, she mistook Harry for a coat rack. The coat was subsequently taken by Aunt Petunia to hang on the actual coat rack as she hurriedly told Harry to stay in his cupboard under the stairs until she had called him for dinner. Harry started to protest, but then decided that he’d prefer it much more than having to hear Aunt Marge criticizing him again. 

Harry found a bowl of cold stew and two biscuits on his bed. He had not been able to have breakfast, and was starving. But at least he’d have something to hold him over until dinner. 

On Christmas day, Dudley received a remote-controlled fleet of toy tanks, a set of toy soldiers complete with a fort, three dinosaur playsets, a volcano-sculpting kit, and Lego building blocks, all nicely wrapped in Hamleys’ wrapping paper. Harry received Dudley’s blunt pack of Crayola with the wrapper torn and old newspapers. He tried his best not to point out that that half the crayons had been reduced to stumps, or that a yellow crayon was missing. 

Harry spent the rest of Aunt Marge’s stay (and the rest of his holidays) drawing picture after picture on the newspapers with the crayons. They were almost always the same, either of the building or the dancing kids, but with variation. Sometimes the kids would be facing forward, waving at him, or standing in what Harry thought to be a dance position, and the blond boy always having the biggest smile of all. He had no yellow crayon for his hair, so Harry had to colour it white. He would lie in bed and hold the newspaper up, and imagine them coming to life, springing out of the newsprint, and being his mates. 

He would have conversations about almost anything with the redheads. He would talk to the redheaded boy about Dudley’s scrunched-up faces as he threw his tantrums, laugh at the comics page with the twins, and relay any interesting articles he found to the girl, about animals being rescued or celebrities being caught in scandals. But he spent the most time with the blond boy, losing himself in a wonderland of adventures with him.

Harry and the boy would fly to the planet Mars, visit Hamleys toyshop in London and pick out their favourite toys (Dudley was uninvited, of course), and have a slap-up meal in a posh restaurant. The boy would teach Harry all the names of the cutlery, and then they would share dessert. But most of all, Harry often imagined dancing together with the boy. The boy would take his hands and guide him, showing him how to move his feet. Harry would hold his breath, and concentrate, concentrate, concentrate on doing it right and avoid stepping on his partner’s toes. 

The holidays passed quickly, and it was time for school to start again. Dudley had grown exactly half an inch over Christmas and Aunt Petunia gushed her heart out. She and Uncle Vernon declared later that Dudley was now “mature enough to walk home from school all by himself, wasn’t he, Ickle Dudleykins?” Harry rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the sudden stab of disappointment. He hadn’t grown taller. The stab edged itself deeper when Uncle Vernon remarked that Dudley could also walk back with Harry and make sure Harry didn’t do “anything funny”. Harry and Dudley suppressed their groans until they were both out of earshot. 

However, Harry quickly found the upside to walking home with Dudley. After the first day back at school, Dudley and his gang dragged Harry to the newly opened Honeydukes chain in the centre of the commercial district, which turned out to be only a block away from Harry and Dudley’s school. 

“Stay out here and don’t come in,” Dudley asserted. “Stay right out here and don’t move. Mummy said.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. Dudley wasn’t the only one who knew how the game was played. “Did she also say that you were allowed to use your pocket money on sweets?” 

Dudley froze and shot Harry a look that was a mix of fright and realisation. Aunt Petunia had told Dudley firmly and specifically that she did not want him splurging the money on his sweet tooth. Dudley had cried and deliberately spread his Lego blocks all over the carpet in displeasure. Aunt Petunia had ignored the mess and Dudley howled in pain from stepping on them himself afterwards. Dudley grabbed Harry’s shoulders. “Don’t tell her, I’m warning you-“

Harry forced himself to look Dudley in the eye. “I’ll gladly keep quiet,” Harry started. “If you get me something too, from Honeydukes.”

Dudley stared at Harry incredulously, but released him, muttered “Fine,” and joined his gang inside the colourful shop. Harry smirked, congratulating himself for pulling it off.

Harry looked around the district. It was truly an upbeat place- people walking and conversing with each other, or doing midday shopping. 

Then the red-brick building caught his eye. It was across Honeydukes. Harry broke into a smile and a quick run across the paved road, dodging past people on bicycles, his bag bouncing on his back. A new feeling, a spark of something wonderful, burst into his heart. 

He reached the window and stood in the place where he had stood last year, and peered inside. The redheads were nowhere in sight. In their place were two girls, one with frizzy hair, the other a dirty blond, and against the barre, the blond boy. The boy was on one leg again, the other straightened out behind him, gripping the barre gently. Harry couldn’t help but admire his balance. “Wow…”

“Yes, wow! He’s very good, isn’t he?” 

Harry turned. A well-dressed woman was standing next to him, clasping her soft hands together. She too, had blond hair, and a kind face. Harry smiled and nodded quickly. “I saw him last year. How does he do it so well? It’s so… magical. Like he’s… flying, and free. The easiest thing to do in the world.”

The woman nodded. “Years of practice. Passion and dedication, too. Ballet makes him feel lighter than air.” 

“Do you know that boy?”

“Yes, he’s my son.”

Harry gulped. He suddenly felt a twinge of embarrassment and shyness. The woman chuckled at this and turned to Harry.

“His name is Draco Malfoy, and he’ll be nine in June. Are you nine too, dear?”

Harry blinked at being addressed so endearingly by this stranger woman. But he smiled and nodded. “I’ll be nine at the end of July,” he said. “Draco is a nice name.” 

“He’ll be glad you think so. And even happier that you think he dances well!” The woman shook his hand. “Narcissa Malfoy. What’s your name, dear?” 

“Harry Potter. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Malfoy-“

“Please dear, you can call me Narcissa.” 

Harry nodded again. They turned their attention back into the dance studio. Draco spotted his mother, reverted to standing on both legs, and excitedly ran up to the window, waving at her. Draco had also noticed Harry, smiled even wider, and placed his hand on the glass, bobbing up and down. Harry smiled back and placed his hand over Draco’s. 

“Draco, this is Harry,” Narcissa whispered, her son reading her lips. “He thinks you dance very well.” 

Draco threw up his arms in a whoop of joy, cartwheeled away in a circle, and bounded back, pressing his hand against the window to mirror Harry’s again. Harry saw Draco mouthing many _thank you_ s and a _hello, Harry!_

“OI! YOU! HARRY!” a voice bellowed from behind Harry. He jumped again. For one wild moment, Harry thought that it was Aunt Petunia. But it was just Dudley, stuffing his face with gummy bears. His cronies flanked around him, each sucking a lollipop. Dudley waved a pale yellow bar of something in his free hand. “I GOT YOU CHOCOLATE, CAN WE GO NOW?” 

“YES! IN A MINUTE-“

“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS BEFORE I EAT YOUR CHOCOLATE! TEN-“

Harry hastily said goodbye to Draco and Narcissa. Narcissa smiled and patted his hand. Draco breathed on the glass and hurriedly scribbled, “see you!” in the condensation, and added a smiley face. 

Harry made it to Dudley just as he reached “one”. The chocolate was caramel chocolate, something Harry had never tried before, but it sounded fun. He savoured every bite on the walk back to Privet Drive. 

That night, Harry had an adventure in which he and Draco shared caramel chocolate in their posh restaurant.


	3. Accept the Chance that has been Given to You

Harry and Dudley kept up their after-school routine. Harry would zip up his mouth about their Honeydukes trips, and Dudley would buy Harry sweets and chocolate to keep his end of the deal. 

While Dudley and his gang shopped, Harry ran across the paved road to Hogwarts School of Dance to see Draco. It was near impossible for Harry to look away from him: Draco always seemed so captivating, even when he wasn’t standing on one leg, or having a water break. 

Harry had so many questions. How come Draco was always in the same building? Didn’t he attend school? Perhaps Hogwarts School of Dance had some hidden academic facilities within and Draco and the other children studied there? Harry pictured all the kids he’d seen sitting in a classroom in their tops, tights and dancing slippers. It had been an almost amusing thought. Draco looked as if he already knew everything- he seemed so bright and confident. Harry desperately wanted to ask Draco his questions and hear his voice. They had been communicating by scribbling messages on the breath they left on the window and through the reading of each other’s lips. 

_Come see me again. Harry._

“Draco. Yes, I’ll come to see you again.” 

As much as Harry enjoyed his time with Draco, he couldn’t help but feel jittery. Draco was technically still in the school, and was supposed to be focusing on lessons. Would he be in trouble if his teachers spotted him talking to Harry? 

Come to think of it, Harry had never seen any teachers in the studio. Or remotely, anybody who looked like an adult. Goodness gracious, these children were teaching _themselves_ dance? Harry knew he was probably wrong, but marvelled at the thought regardless. 

Harry continued to watch the kids inside the building. The air always seemed to change when he did: gently squashed by the slightest of their movements- a turn of the head, a spin and jump combination, even their blinking. Harry felt spellbound by this display of effortlessness. Often, he’d find himself trying to replicate the actions of the children, subtly at first; walking around on his tiptoes, gripping the staircase rail and kicking his leg back and forth. Dudley had seen him do the latter and had snickered, but Harry ignored him and continued, leg in full swing and newfound vigour. 

The day before February half-term arrived fast, but Harry and Dudley could not have sulked more. No school meant no Honeydukes trips for Dudley and no visits to Draco for Harry. For a fornight! Dudley would have thrown the tantrum of his life if he hadn’t feared Aunt Petunia discovering his clandestine routine. He tried his best to stay calm and look perfectly content, gripping his trouser legs until his knuckles turned white. 

Harry, on the other hand, had learned long ago that voicing his protests and complaining would get him in hot flaming soup. But this was different. Draco could be waiting for him. Harry could see Draco, palms pressed against the glass, staring outside into the street, looking for him. Waiting and waiting, but Harry didn’t show up-

Harry considered begging Aunt Petunia to drive him there. But he could not bring himself to tell her the reason- she’d surely scoff at him. _Fancy going to see a boy you hardly know!_ , or question how he had been able to know of the boy in the first place. He would have to tell her everything otherwise, and as much as Harry despised Dudley, he wasn’t one to tell tales. 

After school, Dudley led his gang to Honeydukes morosely, Harry beside him. He wouldn’t be coming for just two weeks, but Dudley looked as if somebody had poisoned his lunch. He probably realised he’d need to replenish his sweets inventory to last him. Harry didn’t waste a second. As they turned the corner to the district, Harry ran across to Hogwarts. He’d need to tell Draco that he wouldn’t be able to come see him for the next fortnight. He shot past people on bicycles and turned himself about to avoid collisions with anybody-

Harry was met with the most abrupt of sights. He felt the urge to turn the opposite direction and run. 

Narcissa, along with Draco, were standing in front of the window, along with the redheaded kids, the two girls, and two other boys, one who was taller and dark, the other slightly pudgy. Narcissa was holding the hand of the blond girl, who was excitedly chatting to the redheaded kids. Draco held Narcissa’s other hand, talking animatedly. 

The kids were outside! Draco was outside! Harry sucked his lips in slightly. He had imagined this scenario countless times, but was never ready for it to actually happen. Harry imagined seeing Draco leaving the building one day, bag slung over his shoulders. Harry would excitedly come up to him, and they’d share the chocolate he had. He and Draco would part as friends after that. 

But now, Draco was here. He was wearing his usual top and tights, but with light green trainers. Harry moved forward and broke into a run, feeling as though his head was pounding madly. His chest felt light. _Now or never, accept the chance that has been given to you, don’t run away. This will be the beginning. Think about Draco. Think about the caramel chocolate. Think about the crayons, the dancing, think about the dancing, how wonderful the dancing is-_

“Draco! Draco, it’s me!” 

Draco turned. He blinked a few times, as if he had something in his eyes. 

“Harry!” 

Harry felt the air change again. The compression of movements, but nobody was dancing. He felt light, as if he would float off the ground. Harry wanted to breathe deeply and go closer. This was the first time he’d heard Draco’s voice. It was neither high or low, orotund, and gleefully, playfully poised. Draco dropped Narcissa’s hand and ran towards Harry, and grasped both his hands with a sense of urgency. _Where have you been?_

When Harry was six, he dropped a plate on the floor and smashed it. Uncle Vernon was so cross, he’d grabbed Harry by the wrists, dug his vast, doughy fingers hard into them, and shouted at him mercilessly, not even pausing to breathe or when Harry started to sob. Aunt Petunia had stepped in and pulled her husband away, before thrusting her brush and dustpan at Harry, telling him to clear off quickly. The skin on Harry’s hands were rubbed raw that day, and hurt hurt _hurt_ , even with the ointment Aunt Petunia had slipped him. Draco was holding his hands so gently, touch almost as invisible as air, but it had made itself known and impossible for Harry to be unable to feel. 

“It’s Luna’s birthday. Mum’s taking us out for pizza and Professors McGonagall and Hagrid are getting our bus.” He beckoned to the small blond girl, who was still standing next to Narcissa. Luna was laughing at something the redheaded girl had said. She had rosy cheeks, wonderstruck lively eyes. Harry decides that he likes her. 

“Oh, that’s great! I wish her a happy birthday,” Harry says, but changes the subject to what he has to tell Draco. “I can’t come and see you until a fortnight later, and I’m very sorry, but I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be thinking of you. I always want to see you. You’re my best friend, and I want to continue talking to you.” 

As “best friend” slips from Harry’s lips, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. No, no, I can’t say that, we’ve only truly met today, it’s too fast! But Draco hardly notices. Draco smiles. 

“You’re my best friend too, Harry! You always like watching me dance. Hey, maybe you could come along with us for pizza! We can sit together. You can order a giant ice-cream after. Luna will be happier if you’re joining us. I’ll be the absolute happiest!” Draco pulls Harry over to Narcissa. Harry stares at him, mouth agape. It was nearly too much for him to process. He would be the happiest person there, all because of Harry. And Luna wouldn’t mind him coming for her birthday treat? Dudley usually screamed bloody murder if Harry was present at his. 

“Mum! Look who I found! Can he come for pizza too? The bus is big enough! He can meet everyone else! Pleaseee!!’ 

Narcissa bent down to face Harry, still holding Luna’s hand. “Hello Harry! Good to see you again. Yes Draco, if it’s alright with Harry’s mum and dad. Are they around, dear?”

Harry gulped. “I... don’t have a mum or dad. They died when I was little. I live with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin’s over there-“ Harry pointed at Honeydukes. “I’d love to come though, but my cousin and I have to get home soon. I hope you’ll have a happy birthday, Luna.”

Luna nodded at Harry. “Thank you. You too, when your birthday comes!”  
Draco and Narcissa looked at each other. Narcissa patted Harry’s shoulder sympathetically.  
Draco took Harry’s free hand in his again. Harry braced himself for Draco’s disappointment, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Draco leaned forward and looked at Harry directly in the eyes, noses nearly touching. “Harry, do you know how to write a letter?”

It was now Harry’s turn to blink momentarily. Draco’s eyes were a cool, stormy grey. Thunder was almost visible behind them, ideas were flashing in his head. Harry stopped blinking and fixed on Draco’s eyes. He wanted to see the thunder. “Yes.”

Draco broke their eye contact to face Narcissa. “Mum, I have a pen and paper. Can you write down our address for Harry?” He produced a notepad and the pen from his sling bag.

Narcissa scribbled something down with practiced motion. She smiled at Harry again. “Perhaps you’d come for dinner someday? Your family is welcome too.”

“Alright.” Harry honestly didn’t want the Dursleys to be welcomed too. 

Draco tore out the page from the notepad and passed it to Harry. “That’s our address, you can write to me there,” Draco took hold of Harry’s hand and squeezed it.” I’ll be glad to be able to write to my best friend.” 

“Thanks Draco. I’m happy too.” Harry squeezed Draco’s hand back. The familiar cold of the window pane became a distant memory. Nothing was in between their hands and voices now, not ever. 

A blue and white bus pulled up in the road next to the building. A thin, unsmiling woman and a jovial-looking large man with a thick beard were visible in the windows. The man was driving, and the steering wheel seemed the size of a donut under the man’s hands. 

The children talked excitedly among themselves and boarded as the door opened, Luna pulling a chuckling Narcissa on board. 

“See you again,” Harry said, “and remember, we’ll write to each other.”

Harry and Draco shook hands. Just like their first encounter, Draco and Harry waved to each other until they were out of sight. Draco boarded the bus walking backwards so he could still see Harry and nearly tripped after he reached the top step. But Draco had laughed it off, and so had Harry. Perhaps his best friend just had better balance in dancing slippers!

As the bus sped off around the corner, Harry looked at his hands. He saw the page with the Malfoys’ address, written in copperplate. It had been real, and his hands were not rubbed raw.


	4. We Can Still Sit Together

_Dear Draco, This is the first time I’m writing to a friend. I hope the pizza was good and Luna enjoyed her birthday. How do you do the thing where your leg sticks out straight behind you?_

_Dear Harry, The pizza was great. Mum ordered sausage but Luna really prefers mushroom. That’s called the “arabesque”. Madam Hooch helped._

_Dear Draco, I think your arabesque looks amazing. I tried to do it myself on the stairs but I ended up kicking my cousin in the shins. My aunt got really stroppy with me._

_Dear Harry, Thank you very much! I’m sorry you ended up kicking your cousin. It’s a little more difficult on your first tries. It was like that for me._

_Dear Draco, Do you go to school? Not to learn dance, but maths and writing and things._

_Dear Harry, No. Mum teaches me. I haven’t attended school for two years._

_Dear Draco, Lucky!_

_Dear Harry, I guess so. Mum says that too._

_Dear Draco, Yesterday Uncle Vernon ate something funny at work and can’t stop being sick. Aunt Petunia’s looking sickly herself. He vomited all over the counter after she spent ages scrubbing it._

_Dear Harry, Today Neville cried after falling onto his bum again doing the pas de chat. George tried to calm him down and tell him it was okay, but Neville said he’s got to be word perfect or his grandmother will be disappointed when she comes to the recital._

_Dear Draco, Dudley threw his volcano-sculpting kit at me but he missed. He thinks I ate some of his chocolate. I swear I didn’t. I was going to save it for the next time I saw you._

_Dear Harry, I spilled water over my dance slippers and didn’t have time to dry them out. The water got up my tights. I had to dance with wet feet! The atrocity!_

_Dear Draco, Aunt Marge is here for Easter. I left my crayons out in the hall and she’s trodden on them. My white crayon got crushed into dust. I’ve tried colouring with the dust by rubbing it with my finger but it’s not working._

_Dear Harry, I’m sorry you had to put up with your uncle’s remarks. There’s nothing wrong with having messy hair. I think you look nice with messy hair._

_Dear Draco, I’ve been trying the arabesque again, but not on the stairs. I can stand on one leg and put the other out behind me without holding on to anything now. But I can’t stay like that for long, only a second or two. Dudley tried too, but I’m more successful._

_Dear Harry, I asked Mum if you could come over for dinner the first Sunday of next month and she’s said yes. She’ll make all her best food. Please say you’ll come. We can still sit together and I could show you my room and perhaps we could watch a video on the telly. I’ve got Disney and Studio Ghibli ones._

_Dear Draco, Thank you very much for the invitation! I’ll have to ask Aunt Petunia if she’ll drive me. Uncle Vernon would say no instantly, but I don’t think he’ll miss me._

_Dear Draco, She said yes!_

_Dear Harry, Wonderful! I’m so glad!_

_Dear Draco, I want to go to Hogwarts School of Dance, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off the [letters/correspondence scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOKA6d35IIM&t=13s) from Moonrise Kingdom.


	5. The Night Sky is Still Full of Magic

The Dursleys hated Harry asking questions, but certainly didn’t seem to mind firing one after the next at Harry themselves. Aunt Petunia had plenty, and even Dudley, who had rudely eavesdropped, kept cutting in while Aunt Petunia was in the middle of her question, causing Harry to muddle up everything she asked. Harry felt a strange unease. He tried to reveal as little as possible to them. It was a secret that was truly his own and could be tainted by nothing. He didn’t have to share it with Dudley, who always ruined everything. 

“He goes to our school. He’s new.” Harry said, not blinking at Aunt Petunia. He’d pinned his arms firmly to his sides.

Aunt Petunia opened her mouth, but Dudley had already started asking, “I haven’t ever seen you with him. How’re you so pally already?” 

Harry mumbled something about befriending Draco during a combined class. Dudley wasn’t in any of Harry’s combined classes, so he rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer game, losing interest at last. Aunt Petunia did not move at all. Now she was taking a second glance at the Malfoy address written on the notepad page. 

“Your…friend,” Aunt Petunia said, in a tone she thought to be accommodating. Her eyes traced the neat curve of Narcissa’s handwriting. “Is he posh?”

“Very.” Harry thought. All the children at Hogwarts seemed to be very well-groomed. Narcissa herself didn’t look like a mother of a nine-year-old boy, she looked, spoke and acted like the refined women that Aunt Petunia often raved about after seeing them appear in talk shows or soaps on the telly. 

“Not many people can afford the houses on this street, not even the neighbour’s son, goodness.” Aunt Petunia murmured to herself. “And now look at you,” she said, directly looking at Harry for the first time that night, “You’ve outdone yourself.” 

Harry didn’t understand what she meant, but Aunt Petunia was looking at him Impressively. Aunt Petunia had only ever looked at Uncle Vernon and Dudley Impressively, so Harry just smiled. 

On the first Sunday evening of May, Petunia Dursley drove Harry out of Little Whinging with the car window rolled down, chanting the Malfoy’s address with pep. Harry tried not to mind. Uncle Vernon, who was still sickly, had taken to bed early, and Dudley had scorned going with Harry to the famous dinner. She had a full face of makeup on and was wearing her earrings, even though she was just dropping off Harry. She had tried to comb Harry’s hair to make it tidier, but gave up and dressed him in Dudley’s most decent hand-me-downs. 

Draco’s house was a few streets from the commercial district. A marble white-grey Victorian manor stood in a lush stretch of greenery and flowering bushes, illuminated by a dim halogen porch light. A sleek black Rolls Royce was parked in their driveway. Aunt Petunia’s car had slowed to a crawl. She was also gaping at the house in breathless envy. 

Harry and Petunia Dursley walked up to the front door, unsure of what to expect. Harry thought about running back to the car. Aunt Petunia could go in his place; she was dressed better too. But Draco was _his_ friend, and he’d wanted so badly for their adventures together to finally take flight. 

The manor had no doorbell. Instead there was an ornate door knocker. Aunt Petunia grasped it, cleared her throat, and made three steady knocks. 

There was the sound of muffled shouting behind the door - “Draco! Look through the peephole first!”- and half-weighted footsteps and a jangling from keys. The door swung open and Draco poked his head out, knob in one hand, key in the other. 

“Harry! You made it!” Draco’s entire being had firework sparks. Harry half-expected to see colourful explosions. “Good evening, Mrs Potter!” 

Petunia Dursley momentarily froze. “I’m Mrs _Dursley_ , dear boy. I’m Harry’s aunt. Thank you for inviting him over.” 

She gave both boys a toothy grin. This time Harry couldn’t tell if she meant it. He reached for Draco’s key-holding hand. “Good evening, Mrs Dursley!” he said, correcting himself. She nodded at him. 

“Behave yourself,” said Aunt Petunia, tapping a finger on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty.” 

“See you,” Harry had started to say, but Aunt Petunia had already turned and was heading back to the car. Her hair was very neat and pinned up, not a single strand out of place. He thanked her inaudibly. 

“Wait till you see what Mum’s made, it’s all really good, I promise!” said Draco, taking Harry’s hand and swiftly pulling him along the hallway. Harry stared at the art hanging on the walls. They were all a jamble of simplistic shapes and spontaneous lines. A lacy tablecloth with an arrangement of hydrangeas in the centre covered their dining table top to bottom. The floor felt slippery under his socks. 

Narcissa Malfoy was setting up the table. Her hair was tied in a knot at the top of her head and her arms were hidden by the sleeves of a cardigan. 

“Hello Narcissa-“

Narcissa set down a crimson-patterned bowl soundlessly as she looked up. “Harry! How nice to see you! I apologize, I look such a mess.” Her cardigan fitted her perfectly, the knot in her blond hair was just as neat as Petunia Dursley’s had been. Even her apron was immaculate. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a fresh bath. “Dinner will be ready soon! Go and play, I’ll call you both down later.”  
The manor seemed to be in a dimension of its own. It was so well-kept and perfect, almost like a dollhouse. But everything felt so unbearably real and full of raw life: the smell of hot, ambrosial food, Draco’s assuring grip. The air felt like adventure and comfort. 

The manor stopped feeling like a dollhouse once Draco brought Harry into his bedroom. Three of the walls were painted an earthy emerald. The fourth was entirely taken up by a large mirror, like the one at Hogwarts. There was a small white bookshelf at the foot of the bed, volumes of shiny dustjackets perfectly fitted inside. Draco’s duvet and covers were lighter shades of green, as if they’d been splashed with paint water. A small television and video player sat on top of the bookshelf, its top gathering dust. 

“Nice books,” Harry remarked, feeling awkward. They hadn’t had any proper conversation since he stepped into the manor.

“Thanks. Hermione’s got more.” Draco slid three thin paperbacks from the shelf and held them up to show Harry. “She lent me these. We’ve done a recital on this one-“ Draco hesitated as he handed it to Harry, but managed a somewhat anxious, tiny smile. “-I was the Moon Sprite.” The cover depicted a blue ink sky, a single white-lined circle hanging forlornly in the centre. Its faded gold lettering left a shadow of the title behind, the patches standing out like drops of stars. 

“What’s the story?” Harry asked, turning the book over in his hands. “Has it got magic?”

“Lots!” Draco spread his arms wide. “It’s a fairytale about The Queen of the Night, who escapes her kingdom to be free. But after she leaves, the kingdom starts falling to bits because the stars die out one by one. Her sprites come to her and beg her to return, but she only does because the death of the stars are affecting her own health. But when she returns, she dies in the night sky, because her absence caused the moon to cave in on itself.”

Harry realised his mouth was slightly opened. He’d never realised that fairytales could have unhappy endings. He’d listened to Aunt Petunia telling Dudley stories outside their bedroom, but they all ended in good and everybody being saved. The moon imploded and the stars died, the Queen along with them. “That’s so… sad!”

“It’s not all sad. The night sky is still full of magic, so many many years later, this magic allows the moon to reform. But it takes an awful long time; by the end the moon has only reformed as a circle.” Draco draws an invisible air circle with his finger. 

Harry flips through the book, catching sight of its words and illustrations. The characters were drawn with dreamy expressions, as if they had no boundaries. Harry looked up at Draco, who hadn’t looked away from him. Draco had both hands behind him, balancing on the outer edge of his feet, hoping for approval. 

Harry did not hold back. “Tell me _everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry for being gone so long.


	6. Mysterious Unpredictable and Magic

Petunia Dursley arrived at nine-thirty sharp, just as Harry and Draco’s film rolled its credits. Narcissa graciously invited her in, but Petunia Dursley politely refused with the same toothy grin and remained standing outside the door. Harry noticed that she had removed her earrings and some of her makeup. 

Draco pouted at his mother and asked if Harry would be allowed over again soon; to which Narcissa nodded and Aunt Petunia hurriedly agreed, unsubtly beckoning Harry to get moving. Harry and Draco exchanged a quick hug and he thanked Narcissa for the dinner. 

Aunt Petunia seemed to be in a mad rush to get home. She was muttering something under her breath, too fast for Harry to pick up what she was saying. She fumbled with the key in the ignition, cursing when she dropped it. 

“Are you alright-“

“ _Quiet_ , boy!” 

“Sorry,” Harry said, but then stopped, covering his mouth with his hand. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia had not appeared to have heard him. Her hand scrambled below for the key. Harry and Aunt Petunia sat in silence throughout the drive back. 

After they had pulled up at Number Four, Aunt Petunia monotonously murmured something about needing a drink and disappeared into the kitchen. Besides the sounds of a glass clinking, the house was dead silent. Harry sat cross-legged in the centre of his bed. The vibrant and impressive evening he’d just spent at the Malfoys’ now seemed as though it had happened long ago. 

Narcissa Malfoy had prepared the most amazing dinner Harry had ever seen, smelled, and tasted: fluffy, gold-roasted jacket potatoes topped with shredded bacon in vegetable gravy, a thickly buttered roast chicken that smelt of rosemary, hot creamy mushroom stew, and a large banoffee pie for dessert. Narcissa had been more than delighted to give them both second helps. 

Harry finished the story of the Queen of the Night. The Queen was depicted in the illustrations as a young, tender-lipped child. She never smiled and had disinterested, disparaging eyes. She was such an unapologetically selfish character, and tactless in her speech. Harry was surprised when Draco told him that the Queen was portrayed by the sweet Luna in their recital. 

They watched one of Draco’s Japanese Ghibli films. It had been a cheery picture about a young witch and her delivery service, with excellent, boppy music. Draco got up, grabbed his pillow and pretended it was his dance partner, doing a rendition of a fast, swaying waltz before flopping down theatrically on the floor and smushing his face into the pillow. Harry laughed and applauded while he scooted closer to him. 

“Draco, what do you think about what I said in my letter?”

Draco paused the movie and looked directly at Harry. Come to think of it, Draco always looked at Harry directly in the eyes. He acknowledged Harry fully as a person who had something to say. “Which letter?”

“The one where I said that I want to go to Hogwarts, too.”

Draco loosened the grip on his pillow. “Oh! That letter! That would be fantastic. Without a doubt. I’d love seeing you around!”

“How do I apply? Is it really expensive?”

“Well… when I signed up, I was with my mum and dad. They used to go there.” 

An image of Narcissa twirling on her tiptoes popped into Harry’s head. She looked as sophisticated and beautiful as always. But he could not picture Draco’s father doing the same. So far, Harry had not seen any family portraits in the manor. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Draco’s father looked like. In fact, he had just assumed that Draco was fatherless, like him. He felt a twinge of shame for thinking so. 

“Professor McGonagall took me inside her office and asked me questions, just the two of us. So… I answered them. She nodded, shook my hand, and told me I was welcome.”

Harry’s heart swelled with hope, and a bit of relief as well. He thought he would’ve been required to perform the arabesque or stick his leg straight up into the air. “Okay,” Harry said, scooting even closer to Draco, “What about the price? How much does it cost to go there?”

Draco scratched his neck. “It's... a bit something. I’m not sure about that. I’ve never asked.”

A gulp of looming defeat catches in Harry’s throat. The sun would rise from the west before the Dursleys would fork out for him to have dance lessons. Saving up was also out of the question: Dudley was the only one who received pocket money, and he splurged it all on Honeydukes sweets. 

Before Harry could say anything else, Draco resumed playing the movie. The story and animation were stunning, but none of it was setting in. His plans were probably rendered impossible. What if they weren’t able to stay friends because Harry couldn’t attend Hogwarts? Another gulp of looming defeat. 

“We can still be friends. I like you. You attending Hogwarts will be possible one day, I feel it.” Draco said suddenly, as if he’d read Harry’s mind. 

“What? How do you… _feel_ it?”

Draco was silent. He looked Harry right in the eye again. Harry inched closer. He felt that he would wreck something essential or miss something if he blinked. Harry swore he saw a thinly veiled crack of thunder under the folds of cool storm grey. 

“Anything is possible. _We_ are possible. Do you feel that we are possible?”

“Of course I do!”

“There. It’s possible.”

Harry leaned backwards, mouth open, eyes still fixed on Draco’s. Draco blinked once. 

Then they simultaneously burst into a fit of laughter. Draco had small tears in the corner of his eyes. He lightly thumped Harry on the back when he started wheezing. 

“Oh, that was lame,” said Draco. He put the pillow between them. “I felt like the Moon Sprite.”

“Ha. Like galloping about barefoot wearing wings?”

“No, you git, magic! I felt like for a moment there… it was like a scene from one of the fairy books. Like I’m about to bestow important information for a quest upon you and I’m being mysterious and unpredictable and magic.”

Harry laughed again and nodded as he picked up the pillow. 

Harry closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and leaned backwards until his head thumped his own pillow, in the cupboard under the stairs. 

"Draco. I feel it too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! This chapter was fun, but now I'm beat. I had a piano song in my head while I was writing this out. It is an excellent song.


	7. War for a Piece of Cake

During a downpour on Monday afternoon, Dudley and his gang shot mocking looks at Harry through the Honeydukes' display window with strawberry jelly smeared across their fat chins. They stood up and flung themselves against the door whenever Harry moved, doubled up laughing and spilling their jelly when the door shook and Harry stepped back. His hair was dripping wet; his shoes were soaked and uncomfortable. The books in his bag probably had their pages fused together by moisture. Harry then turned and dashed across the road to Hogwarts.

The studio was deserted, except for the redheaded girl and the large, bearded man. Harry pushed his hands on the wet glass and knocked. The sound of rain hitting the pavement grew louder, as if to deliberately drown Harry out. Thankfully, the redheaded girl noticed Harry quickly. She stood up, murmured something to the man, and motioned for Harry. The bell over the door jingled as the girl pulled it open.

Harry thanked her and waited for her to move aside to let him in, but she stood rooted to the spot, head tilted and her mouth slightly open, surveying him suspiciously. Harry felt afraid of her big brown eyes. It as if he had just told her bad news. "Who are you?"

She sounded anything _but_ suspicious. It was blank and soft, almost welcoming in a way. Harry stuck out his hand. "Harry Potter. I'm friends with Draco. Could you let me in-"

"Oh! _You're_ Harry!" The girl laughed, grabbing his hand and giving it one firm shake. "I'm Ginny. Draco has been showing you off all day. It's driving us _all_ mad."

Thunder roared in the sky and splashed all over Harry, who had forgotten that he was still standing in the rain. Draco had been thinking; _talking,_ about him to all his other beautiful dancing friends, even. Had he also shown them the waltz he performed just for Harry with the pillow? Harry secretly wished Draco wouldn't. Only he and Draco knew the steps to that pillow waltz. Only they knew the music for it, too.

Ginny pulled Harry inside, still laughing. Harry wanted to sit down on the polished floor and memorise every inch of the room. A radio and speaker sat on a small table at the side of the studio, surrounded by CDs with marker scribbled over them, like a moat around a castle. The large man was wiping one of the discs.

"Who've we got 'ere? Nasty storm." He set down the disc and looked at Harry, and gasped. "Ah! A wanderin' traveller! We haven' had any in a long time! Fetch a towel! I'll get him some nosh."

Ginny nodded and ran out of the studio, her red hair swaying on her shoulders. Harry was surprised: the man acted as if Harry was a bit magical. And now he was pawing through an Asda bag to find a treat to offer him. Harry wiped his glasses with his sleeve. He had never felt more happy in his life. It was like he had been invited to a party and was allowed to blow out the candles on the cake every time, even though it wasn't his birthday. The man handed Harry a Quality Street chocolate, which Harry eagerly popped into his mouth. It was delicious and warm on his tongue.

Ginny skipped back into the room with a towel. Harry chuckled as the man wiped him off- "Look! He's been wanderin' in Atlantis!" After he was done, the man instructed her to get herself and their traveller to tea. She tilted her head to the side again as she looked Harry up and down. Harry didn't feel as afraid of her eyes now, so he looked back at her.

"I saw you dancing last year. I think you twirled really well."

She grinned, but then looked confused. "I didn't perform in any recitals."

"No, I saw you while I was out there," Harry pointed to the window. "With Draco and the three other boys."

Ginny curtsied and patted Harry's shoulder. "Thank you! Now join us for tea."

* * *

 

Tea was held in a room opposite the studio. It was a cramped room with the window etched so low into the wall, a person would have to bend down to look out of it. A poster of a Russian ballerina hung over it. She looked at everybody condescendingly. A single light bulb hung over an end table, where a group of kids were eating cakes. They were seated very closely together, as if they were playing a secretive game of cards. Draco was among them, and he stood up on his seat when he saw Harry, nearly knocking over the pudgy boy.

"Harry! You're here!" Draco nudged the kids next to him. Another roar of thunder sounded, scaring the poor pudgy boy. Luna managed to catch his fork before it hit the floor.

"Sit _down,_ Draco!" yelled the girl with frizzy hair. She had a thin book in her hands and her cake was untouched. She looked utterly fed-up and sour.

_"Quit shouting!"_ the redheaded boy shouted, crumbs of cake flying from his mouth. He turned to Harry and stuck out his hand. "Ron Weasley."

Harry shook Ron's hand. The tearoom was even noisier than his classroom: Ron resumed arguing with the frizzy-haired girl, Ginny was play-fighting with the twins, and Luna seemed to be engaged in conversation with the ballerina on the poster. Draco had insisted on introducing Harry to everybody. He would nudge a person, say "This is Harry and he's my best friend" and Harry would hold out his hand for them to shake. Harry felt that he had found a new family. Everybody seemed to like him, and wanted to hear what he had to say. They fought over cake afterwards, but nobody was truly cross.

Harry was spectacularly late. Dudley had left without him. Perhaps he had already told Aunt Petunia that Harry had run off and that it wasn't his fault, while hiding his sticky pink fingers in his pockets. It was still pouring as Harry walked home by himself. He thought of going back inside and asking to borrow an umbrella or the company of one of his new friends, but decided not to in the end. If he was going to be in trouble with The Dursleys, so be it; he had given up on them ages ago. Harry raised his face to the gloomy skies and stretched his arms out to the sides, as if he was stopping a war for a piece of cake. The smell of the rain filled him with courage and hope- he had friends. Friends who would be his friends even if he didn't go to their school and couldn't see them all the time. He could see all of them dancing with him now, screaming and laughing at each other in the tearoom afterwards. He'd share his chocolate with every single one of them and give Draco more if he asked. Draco had hugged him before he left the building, reminding him to write.

When Harry reached Number Four, Dudley was sitting in front of his cupboard. He had fallen asleep, and jolted awake when Harry prodded his arm. "Where have you been?! I was looking everywhere for you! We're lucky that Mummy didn't even notice."


	8. Gambit of the Chocolate

Petunia Dursley discovered about the Honeydukes trips on Friday. She had gone to pick Dudley and Harry up from school, and nearly caused a car accident when she took a shortcut through the commercial district and saw her son's sugar-smeared face in a sweetshop window. 

Dudley threw the screaming fit of his life as his mother pulled him out of the shop, bag of jellies still clutched in one fist. His gang stared on at their fearless leader being bested by this bony horse-faced woman with a glass-breaking voice, now declaring that she was not giving him pocket money for the next month.

They had gotten halfway back home and Petunia Dursley had nearly lost her voice when she realised that Harry wasn't in the car. Nor had he been at the shop. 

"Where is _he?"_ she screeched. " _Why isn't he with you, Dudders-"_

Dudley whimpered nosily. "He-he doesn't go in there with _me_ , he just goes to that posh-looking nuthouse across-"

"Posh-looking _nuthouse?"_

"He talks to this, um, blond kid in tights there-"

Dudley was drowned out by the shrill sound of the car wheeling around and speeding back into the street. This was the first time he was wholly afraid of his mother. Her knuckle bones looked as though they would pop out of her skin and splatter all over the steering wheel.

Petunia Dursley pulled up in front of the red-brick building, grabbing Dudley out with her. She took one look at it and heaved a sigh. It was impossible to tell if she was frustrated or relieved. 

* * *

 

"...it definitely needs some work-"

"Oi! Fred! Watch the juice!"

"Aah! Too close, too close."

"You were saying? Come on, pass us some of that fudge, my mum made it specially..."

"Narcissa's made fudge again? Why didn't you tell me, I would've put down my book."

Fred, one of Ron's twin brothers, had tried to show off his mastery of the changement, but he was so tall that he nearly knocked the table over. Dean and Neville were crouched next to the window with their cups because there was no more room. Hermione brought a new book that closely resembled a small brick, and she'd threatened to throw it at Ron twice in under half an hour because he kept leaning over her. 

Harry had returned to the tearoom. He'd been embarrassed to admit that he hadn't noticed the room's lack of wallpaper the first time he came. Draco and Ron laughed and called him silly, and messed up his hair further. Draco dropped a Tupperware of fudge in Harry's lap. "So, is there anything else you  _haven't_  noticed?"

"Um, no," said Harry, opening the lid. "What I _have_ noticed, though, is... that your smile is bigger today."

Draco thrust his nose into the air and let out a hearty chuckle. He inched his stool closer to Harry's. 

"Hey, you've met Professor Hagrid, right? The large man with all the, y'know..." Draco motioned around his chin and Harry nodded.

"He's nice," Harry remarked. "I love his smile."

"Everyone does! It's good though; that he smiles so much, unlike Professor McGonagall-"

There was a startling silence in the room, like a video that somebody had hit pause on. Hermione rose from her stool as a confused-looking elderly woman entered, followed by a blubbering boy holding the hand of a very ruffled-looking horse-faced woman. Harry's glasses fogged up and he gulped, nearly choking. Draco suddenly grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly, as if their intruders had come to steal Harry away. Ron stared hard at the confused woman, trying his best not to look at the flustered pair. Aunt Petunia inched her way through the cramped room towards him, the children all jumping out of their seats quick to get out of her path, as if she were a runaway bull. Draco didn't move at all. His grip on Harry's hand tightened with ferocity, but Harry didn't think to cry out in pain. There was no vice or anger in Draco's grip that would hurt him. His own fingers dug into the back of Draco's hand. 

" **Boy!** _"_ Aunt Petunia bellowed, even though Harry was right in front of her. " _You little berk, what on earth are you doing **here**_ **?** Who are these _people?"_ She gestured wildly with her free hand, nearly slapping the kids sitting around the table. 

Harry stared at the Tupperware of fudge in his lap, and up at her again, his mouth dry. Her eyes looked as though they would burst out of her head and leave two empty sockets behind, coloured red with agitation. It was such a gruesome thought that he didn't dare open his mouth, for fear of vomiting right in her face.

He turned to look at Draco for help. Draco looked astoundingly calm. He stared at her, then at Dudley, with an almost-smile and head tilted to the side, nearly brushing Hermione's arm. Harry could not take his eyes off how Draco looked- he was showing just the right amount of lip; storm grey eyes somehow remaining bright under hooded eyelids. It was as if he was seeing into Aunt Petunia and Dudley, taking note of insecurities he could use against them.

It was the scariest thing Harry had ever seen in his life. 

"Hello, Mrs Potter! No, sorry, Mrs... _Dursley,_ was it?" said Draco sweetly, as if he had been eating nothing but powdered sugar. "I'm sorry if we've- _I've_ kept Harry out too long. I asked him to come over and see me here at dance class today."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly. Aunt Petunia blinked rapidly, but not with anger. She didn't even seem to have minded being mistaken for her sister again by this boy. She was amazed. The confused woman, who Harry assumed was the famous unsmiling Professor McGonagall, turned, stunned for a moment, and then sighed. "Thank you Mr. Malfoy, that will be enough-"

"Of course, he'd said no and that he couldn't leave his poor cousin to worry the first few times, but I _insisted,_ you see," Draco continued. "We always love new company, and Harry has been nothing but _lovely."_  

 _Lovely_ was like a bullet that was aimed for the head and pierced straight through the frontal lobe. Ron suddenly stood up. 

"Yeah! Harry's really something. He's fun!" 

Hermione stood up before he could finish. She did not say anything, but moved over to Harry, grabbed his other hand, and held it up for Petunia Dursley's eyes. The room grew abuzz with how much they all liked Harry. He'd attended their dance practices after Monday's tea and had clapped along to every song. He would yell out encouragements and pump his fists. He would hug everybody and tell them what he'd liked about their steps, especially Neville, and this motivated him to try again and again. Harry wouldn't let anybody feel that they weren't good enough. 

Aunt Petunia seemed dazed. She hadn't looked away from Draco. Draco stared back at her, looking absolutely unhindered. Her own eyelids were hooded now, as though she had chosen nonchalance as her defence mechanism. Dudley had stopped crying. He was looking around at all the faces in the room, all of which were focused on his cousin and his smarmy looking blond friend. 

Aunt Petunia reached for Harry's shoulder and pulled him up sharply. The Tupperware spilled to the floor with a  _clunk_ that made the room silent again. 

"You are coming home **now.** " 

"No! Aunt Petunia, wait-"

"I said **now!** "

Petunia Dursley wrenched Harry free of Draco and Hermione. Hermione gasped a bit, her eyes flashing. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Petunia Dursley steered Harry through the sea of stools and once-again frightened children and out the tearoom and the main door under the emerald bell, not allowing him to face anywhere but the front.

The splattered remains of fudge stayed, spilled and unknowing of anything else but silence and chocolate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang. Sorry for being gone so long (again). I promise to update this as often as possible. Here's the rest of the story!


	9. Petunia Dursley and Other Things

Petunia Dursley did not say a word as she marched Harry and Dudley back into the car. She stared straight ahead, the reflection of her eyes in the mirror burning right into Harry. Dudley turned on the radio to break the uncomfortable silence, and a bad pop song blared through the car. Petunia Dursley stepped on the gas. Harry kept his head down, now very interested in his seatbelt.

They did not get out when the car pulled up at Number Four. Petunia Dursley turned the radio off and stared straight ahead, hands still on the steering wheel. 

"I don't know what to say, Dudders," she said, voice very low. "I told you not to. And-"

"I'm _sorry_ , Mummy!"

"-And  _you_ , boy," she turned to face Harry in the backseat. "We need to have... a talk."

Thankfully, Vernon Dursley was out at work. Harry and Dudley would have never heard the end of their shame otherwise. Petunia Dursley sent Dudley into the bathroom to wash his face, and sat Harry down on the sofa. Harry felt scared at how slowly it was all happening. Aunt Petunia seemed to be out of it- she sat down, but immediately stood back up to get a drink for herself. She took her time to sip it, dabbing at her mouth and setting the glass down hard, as if it were troubling her. The pressure in the air was enough to squash the house flat.

"Do you know what place you went to?"

Harry looked her directly in the eye. “A dance school. The people there- they’re my friends. We were just-“

“Do they go to _your_ school?”

Harry thought for a while. None of the other children had mentioned having any sort of education other than the one for dance. He shook his head.

“But that blond boy. You went to his house. He’s not in your… combined class, then, is he?”

There seemed to be no need for further pretences.

“No.”

Dudley re-emerged from the bathroom and stood awkwardly behind the sofa.

“He wants to go to that school.”

Aunt Petunia’s eyes widened as she looked up at Dudley. She gave Harry a shocked glance, as if Dudley had announced that Harry planned to grow himself a third leg or move out of the house and live in a rabbit hole. Harry turned to look at Dudley, even more shocked.

“What- how did you-“

“The blond swot said that in those letters-“

“You’ve been _reading my letters?”_ said Harry, through gritted teeth. “Those are _none_ of your business!”

Aunt Petunia stood up. **_“Be quiet, the both of you!”_**

“But Mummy! I was just-“

 “Yes, Dudders. And now I need to talk to _him,_ and this... _is_ really none of your business.”

Dudley crossed his arms over his chest and huffed away, making sure his stomps were loud. He climbed the stairs and slammed his room door hard.

Harry sat, stunned. He thought he’d never live to see Dudley giving in to Aunt Petunia. She took another long sip of her drink, and sighed as she sat back down. She stared at the backs of her hands, chewing her bottom lip. Harry gazed at her expectantly.

Aunt Petunia took a deep breath, and returned his gaze. Her eyes were soft. “Lily loved to dance.”

Harry sat up straighter, startled. He felt as if a switch inside him had been flicked on. This was the first time Aunt Petunia had mentioned his mother without him asking about her first. He knew that her name was Lily Evans and that she had died in a car crash with his father when she was twenty-one. He'd never heard Aunt Petunia refer to her directly as Lily, let alone sentimentally. Aunt Petunia didn't even want to think about her most of the time, getting angry whenever she did.

"Obsessed with them pointy shoes and all, she was always trying her best to push herself up on her feet," Aunt Petunia smiled a little, but Harry thought it looked more like a grimace. "And shortly after that Mum and Dad enrolled her in dance school. She became a regular Margot Fonteyn." 

Harry didn't have a clue who Margot Fonteyn was, but neither did he have a clue about his mother. 

"I wanted to prove that I could do it too, but I simply couldn't. I was forever stuck flat on the ground." Aunt Petunia sighed. "But Lily walked in the  _sky._  By the time she was seventeen, she had outdone nearly all her friends and worn through so many pairs of shoes." 

Harry felt like curling himself into a ball. He thought of a beautiful young girl, making her way across the clouds with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched while a lovely, sad song was playing. He wanted to draw a picture of her. 

There was a shake in Aunt Petunia's voice. "If her head hadn't hit the windshield, she would have... given so many performances. You wouldn't have that ghastly thing-" she jabbed a finger at the scar on Harry's forehead "-and I would still have a sister."

Harry wiped at his eyes. He felt an uncomfortable heaviness building up in his chest. 

Aunt Petunia steadied herself and huffed. "That friend of yours; what on earth is he playing at? Calling _me_ 'Mrs Potter'. He thinks he's really it, doesn't he-"

Harry didn't hear the rest. He stared at his feet, unsure what to make of things. 

"- and when I saw where you were, I could've just cried right there and then," Harry looks up at Aunt Petunia again. "A dance school, out of all places! It's just like her."

Harry gave a small smile. 

"Is what Dudley said true? About you wanting to go?"

"Yes."

Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed and her voice grew hard suddenly. "You realise that if you went, you'd have to be _homeschooled._  That place is for serious, professional training, their headmistress said. That isn't an after-school class." 

"I-I don't mind. I want to dance. My friends are all there. I could be like Mum! And for the homeschooling part..." Harry stopped. He had a sudden image of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon teaching him maths and screaming at him in unison. 

"I'll have you know that that cannot be done. None of us are in any position to teach you." 

"Maybe Narcissa- uh, my friend's mum can teach me. She teaches him already-"

"Now that would just be imposing-"

"But we haven't asked! We don't know that!"

"Well... why do you want to dance, anyway?"

Harry thought for a while. He tried recalling the steps and movements of his friends in the studio. They had looked so beautiful and free, not a care in the world. "I just want to!"

Petunia Dursley heaved a deep sigh, as if she were fed up with him, but wasn't going to tell him. She took her drink and stood up. "I'll discuss it with Vernon." 

Harry watched her saunter back into the kitchen. She was back to her usual self, but Harry could not help thinking of the way her eyes had looked when she talked about his mother. She seemed younger and more easily hurt in a way. They had reached a sort of understanding. 

'Wait, Aunt Petunia!" Harry called.

She turned her face sideways. "What?"

"Did my dad go to Mum's dance school as well? Did they meet there?"

Petunia Dursley blinked. Then she took another sip of her drink, turned back and disappeared into the kitchen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Marauders totally went to dancing school.


	10. Interview! (I Hope)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, I apologise.
> 
> And I have no more time or juice to come up with new plots, so this is my main focus. I blame exams

Harry awoke from a dream where he'd been on a stage in his school uniform. The large curtains were wide open for a show, an overhead spotlight gleaming, but the seats below him were empty. There was an echo when he called out, his voice rebounding in the stone silent theatre.

The spotlight next to his switched on, and Harry was not alone on stage- Draco appeared, hair almost white against the glare of light. Harry gaped at him.

Draco looked back at him, and smiled the same smile he’d given Aunt Petunia in the tearoom. Harry felt a jolt of electricity up his back, and then he awoke, staring at the grey undersides of the stairs.

Harry opened the cupboard door gingerly. It was barely dawn, hints of golden weekend seeping in through the windows, pleasant and warm. He was completely alone as of now- the Dursleys usually slept in.

Harry thought about pulling on his trainers and running down the street, to the commercial district, and into Hogwarts. But perhaps it’d be too early for anybody to be there.

Yesterday’s events felt very far away. He had a sudden sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be very welcome there anymore- what if those beautiful dancing children thought he was bad news now? They had tried to defend him, Draco and Hermione had gripped his hands, but now Harry burned red with embarrassment. The thought of facing them scared him.

A pile of mail sat at the foot of the door. Harry heaved a sigh and scooped it up, carrying it over to the dinner table. Amongst the bills and coupons was a single envelope with his name on it.

Harry’s eyes widened as he snatched up the letter and scurried back into his cupboard. He slit it open with a swipe of his ruler, hands uncharacteristically shaky as he pulled the smooth letter out. _The Malfoys!_ he thought, mind racing, _are they going to yell at me for spilling their fudge -_

_Dear Harry,_ read Draco’s neat script. _Are you okay? I got so worried! Ron and Ginny and Hermione and everybody else went crazy._ _I volunteered to go to your house specially to check on you, but Mum wouldn’t drive me- she got a little worried after I told her about what happened and said perhaps it would be best for your aunt to calm down for a bit and then I screamed at her so now I’m in trouble. But don’t worry, it’ll pass._

_I also spoke to ~~Professer~~ Professor McGonagall. She kept asking me about you and where you’re from and your mum and dad but I couldn’t say very much. But she’s not cross one bit, in fact she’d like to speak to you A.S.A.P. I think it’s because I told her you wanted to come join us, so I hope you can! _

_Write me back!_

_-Draco_

_P.S.: I’m not supposed to leave my room so I climbed out my window to post this. Nearly tumbled off but I’m fine._

_P.P.S: Write me back!!_

Harry looked up, blinking. Then he reread the letter, again and again until he was smiling from ear to ear. He placed the letter on top of the others and pulled a page from his jotter, a new light in himself.


End file.
